


the language of flowers

by TigerMoon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/pseuds/TigerMoon
Summary: Tattoo artist Qrow Branwen has had a game going with the owner of the flower shop next door for a year now. Ozpin Pine brings him flowers, insisting there's a message there--and Qrow makes up a bullshit message behind it. It's all in good fun... and if it's secretly an excuse to let him keep seeing the man he's secretly in love with, then so much the better.Until he returns from Summer's funeral to a heavier weight, a white bouquet, and an insistence that this time, he can't pretend.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	the language of flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally planning to participate in Writer's Month this year--this year has been a disaster, and my mojo has been pretty much nonexistent, but this bit and wouldn't let go. So! Here's a bunch of nonsense.
> 
> If you want to read the messages in the flowers, I used [this handy-dandy Wikipedia list](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_symbolism) as a guide.

Qrow Branwen was curled up on the leather couch in the corner, in the middle of his second favorite activity—getting completely shit-faced—when the bell above the door to his tattoo parlor jingled. “Hey buddy,” he drawled, not even bothering to look up from his flask, “sign outside says ‘closed’. _C-L-O—_ “

“It’s only me,” the man behind him said, and Qrow nearly spit out his whiskey.

Fuck.

It was Ozpin.

Every shopkeeper on Main Street knew each other. In a small, touristy town like theirs, they sort of had to. And usually it was great—when he’d first opened Corvidae Ink, he’d immediately had a community of more experienced business owners there to lend advice or a helping hand. He could thank the bookseller, a part-time university professor nicknamed Oobleck for his perpetually green hair, for teaching him how to set up a window display. Clover, local fishmonger and owner of the best seafood restaurant for twenty miles, had showed him tips on advertising. Glynda, a glass artisan who taught classes during the tourist season, was set up across the cobblestone road from his shop and always nagged him about bookkeeping. And right next door…

Well. Qrow had sneered at the homey little flower shop at first, hating the ever-present fragrance that always managed to drift into his parlor and the owner who always apologized for the trouble. Ozpin Pine was a true eccentric among eccentrics, with naturally grey hair (he wasn’t even thirty-five yet), tiny glasses for computer reading that he always forgot to remove, and a vocabulary that made one think he’d shoved the entire goddamn Oxford dictionary up his ass. He was unfailingly polite and unfailingly kind and had treated Qrow like family from the start. Bringing him handmade herbal teas and soups when he was sick, helping him clean up when he was too exhausted to do so alone, listening to him rant when he needed a shoulder to lean on.

Qrow was just a bit in love with the asshole. Just a bit.

Ozpin slipped neatly onto the stool next to him. Today’s floral aroma seemed heavy on sandalwood and orchids, a combination that did all kinds of things to Qrow’s heart rate. He placed a small bouquet on the table beside him, a constellation of white flowers framed by waxy green leaves, in a small glass vase. “Snowdrops and white poppies for the family,” he said. “And for you, jasmine and arbutus.”

“You always do this,” Qrow said, swallowing the mouthful of whiskey he’d managed. “What secret message are you sending me this time? Lemme guess: ‘it’s too fuckin’ hot for June’, ‘opium’s illegal so here’s the next best thing’, and ‘I missed your scrawny ass’.”

Ozpin’s ears turned pink.

This had been a ritual for almost a year, now—once a week Ozpin would bring Qrow a small bouquet, claiming he was trying to make his parlor smell less like ‘a secret S&M den’ and more like a civilized place of business. He’d always name the flowers he brought, as if they meant something important, which naturally meant that Qrow had to make up his own meanings just to aggravate him. It was a game, now, even if Ozpin always seemed a little disappointed that Qrow wouldn’t play along.

“I don’t need a bouquet to tell you I missed you,” he said, voice dropping into a low, amused tone. “As for the rest… smartphones exist for a reason, Qrow. So does Wikipedia.” Ozpin’s smile faded as he folded his hands in his lap. There were tiny green leaves stuck to the cuffs of his equally green button-down shirt; he picked one after the other off with chipped fingernails, letting them flutter to the floor. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner,” he said. “How are you feeling after…?”

“The funeral?” He blew out a breath and put the flask aside. “I mean… we all saw it coming. It wasn’t a shock.” A complete lie. Ozpin had been there when he’d received the phone call, that Summer was gone, had held him through the screaming and the sobbing. Hell, he’d closed his shop down for him, cleaned, even set up messages alerting customers for him while he was up in Seattle with Tai and the girls for the funeral and the aftermath. “It’s just hard to say goodbye to family like that, y’know?”

“I do,” Ozpin murmured. He looked away for a second, honeyed eyes soft at the edges above his tinted glasses.

“… I feel like shit,” Qrow conceded after a moment’s pause. He lifted the flask, then offered it to his companion. Ozpin took a long pull of it after a moment’s consideration. “Tai wants me to move back to Seattle and help him with the kids. I can’t afford to rent a booth up there, much less start my own parlor. Why move there when I have canvases from Seattle driving here just to get inked?” He blew out a long breath, ran a hand through his lank hair. “I love my nieces, but—shit. I told him to move his ass down here instead. There’s been a lot of interest in a martial arts school here and the girls would love it.”

Ozpin considered this as he took another drink. “… that’s a rather large life change in and of itself,” he finally said. “To leave the place where you’ve built your home, with someone you loved? It can feel like—” He slumped on the stool, shoulders withering. “Like betraying their memory. Leaving them behind.”

Qrow laid a hand on his wrist. Ozpin had never told him, but he’d heard from the other shopkeepers about it. That Ozpin had been married once, had a wife and child, and lost them both to a tourist driving drunk late at night. “Kind of a dick move of me, huh?” he said.

“Not at all.” Ozpin squeezed his hand once and let go. “I think you have a point. I’m just saying to give him time. Let him grieve first. Reconcile the idea.” He paused, full lips quirking up in the hint of a smile. “Besides, I think I know the site you’re thinking of for this school, and rumor has it the price isn’t going to drop for a few months yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Rumor, huh?”

“The owner _might_ have let that information slip while I was making a bouquet for him,” he said blithely. “He insisted on hydrangeas. Hydrangeas! I’m insulted on her behalf.”

“Why? What does ‘hydrangea’ mean in flower?”

“Frigidity,” Ozpin said.

Qrow snorted his mouthful of whiskey halfway up his nose. “Fuck—shit, _fuck_ , Oz,” he sputtered, eyes watering from the fire in his sinuses. The bastard beside him only laughed and took his flask away before he could spill the last dregs on the floor.

“How eloquent,” he teased, rubbing a warm hand down Qrow’s back as he coughed. A green handkerchief appeared in his vision and he blew his nose with overdramatic vigor.

He wanted to kiss him. Right there and then, him still coughing and Ozpin all warmly amused—he wanted to _kiss him_ , see if those full lips were as soft as they looked, bury his fingers in that thick grey hair—he wanted, so much.

But then Ozpin got to his feet, and the spell was broken.

“Leaving so soon?” Qrow asked, offering him back the handkerchief. Ozpin wrinkled his nose.

“I need to finish closing down for the day. And you can wash that, if you please.” He stopped, his fingers lightly pressing on Qrow’s shoulder. They shook, just the slightest amount. “Take care. You have my number if you need anything.”

“Sure,” he said. “I haven’t even said thank you, y’know. For—” He waved a hand at his shop, spotless and shiny. “Everything.”

Ozpin lingered at the door. “If you want to thank me,” he said hesitantly, “then look up those flowers.” With a tight smile and wave, he slipped out the door, leaving just the jingle of the bell behind him.

Look up the flowers. Qrow flopped back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Did he really _want_ to kill the game like this? It was fun, teasing Oz like this, but something about his attitude—the nervousness, the faint tremor in his hand as he’d touched him—said this actually meant something. That this was important.

He sighed and pulled out his phone, pausing only to plug it in to charge. Well, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, and he wasn’t looking forward to walking back to his apartment just yet....

Wikipedia’s article on the _language of flowers_ didn’t actually say shit about what they meant. It took several minutes of digging around and clicking random links to find the page on _plant symbolism_ , which meant the same damn thing but was far more pretentious. He scrolled down, finding the two things Ozpin had mentioned easily. Arbutus—he had to look up how to spell that one, thanks, Oz—and jasmine. Arbutus and—

Qrow’s eyes went wide.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck—_

Ozpin’s shop was closed. His car was gone.

Qrow sagged against the door, a hand slapped to his forehead and a stupid grin spreading across his face even as he swore.

If this was how their game was going to end, Qrow had one more move up his sleeve.

* * *

Ozpin was up to his elbows in frothy green leaves and when Qrow entered the little flower shop. “I’ll be right with you,” he said through gritted teeth. He was in fine form this morning, with a streak of dirt painted across his cheek and rumpled shirt and little bits of baby’s breath caught in his hair. As he watched, he nestled the greenery behind a spread of clustered purple spikes, where it spread into a delicate fan. He let out a heavy sigh before looking up. “There we go. I’m sorry, I’m not yet—Qrow?”

“Hey,” he smirked, weaving past a trio of lushly expensive bouquets. The air was heady with honeysuckle, which meant Ozpin was drying blossoms for tea in the back. He bounced a bit on his toes, hands clasped behind his back. “Figured I’d stop by and let you know I’m reopening tomorrow, so if you see a little pickup in foot traffic….”

“I’m glad you’re feeling up to it,” he said with a gentle smile. “I know this hasn’t been easy.”

Qrow shrugged. “Been a lot easier having friends like you helpin’ out,” he said.

“Ah,” Ozpin said. The smile faded a bit at the edges. “Friends. Of course.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the drip of water somewhere in the back. “I—” Ozpin began, only to be cut off.

“So I looked up that flower language like you asked.”

His head shot up. “You did?”

“Yup. Well, took me a while. Wikipedia’s got a shitty naming system, y’know.”

“They’re trying to be academic about it.”

“They’re trying to be annoying about it, is what they’re really doing.” Qrow leaned back a bit on his heels, hands still firmly behind him. “Jasmine and Arbitus, huh?”

“Arbutus,” Ozpin said faintly.

Qrow hummed. “You’ve given me a lot of those messages, haven’t you? Bellflowers? Gardenias? Narcissus? How many have you thrown at me?”

Across from him, Ozpin’s hands began to tremble. “Please,” he begged, voice weak. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Qrow dropped a bouquet in front of him.

He stared at it for a moment before reaching out and pushing the paper back. The flowers were a bit wilted at the edges, sloppily thrown together—no other florist had as high of standards as Ozpin—but the message was clear.

“Red carnations,” Ozpin murmured, honey eyes glowing in the light. He circled around the counter until they were practically nose-to-nose. “And—rainflowers?”

“Yeah,” Qrow said. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, Wikipedia said—”

“Qrow, please shut up,” Ozpin said, and kissed him.

And oh, _oh_ , it was everything and nothing like he’d dreamed, lips lightly chapped but still soft and pliant, silver hair thick and when Qrow tugged at it Ozpin moaned and his mouth when he slipped his tongue inside tasted like honey and jasmine tea, all sweetness. Ozpin licked up into him, nipped his lips, fuck. “So,” Qrow managed when they parted for breath, “I’ll show you my stamen—”

“Oh no.”

“—if you show me your pistil.”

“That’s terrible,” Ozpin snorted, pressing fluttery little kisses down the side of his jaw.

Qrow grinned. His fingers trailed down his sides, down to play with the slight bit of bared skin exposed where Ozpin’s shirt had rucked up in the back. “Y’know, maybe I should actually learn this flower language shit,” he murmured in between stolen kisses. “If it gets me here.”

Ozpin’s eyes seemed to sparkle gold in the overhead light. “Lock the door,” he purred, “and I’ll be glad to teach you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


End file.
